


That's How You Know

by Panic_CelestialInk



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Flirting, Fluff and Angst, Multi, OT3, Post-Canon, Romance, Sexual Humor, Sharing a Body, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-01
Updated: 2017-02-12
Packaged: 2018-09-21 09:39:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 10,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9541886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Panic_CelestialInk/pseuds/Panic_CelestialInk
Summary: How do you know he loves you?. . . .How do you know he's yours?. . . .He'll find his own way to tell youWith the little things he'll doThat's how you knowThat's how you know!





	1. Notes

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so though the tags may seem confused, what this piece is, is a series of one shots each one dedicated to a different FMA couple. So, there will be canonical couples, implied canon couples, otps from my friends and family and my OT3 featured here. 
> 
> Each one shot will depict one of the little ways the men show the girls they love them, and this fic was inspired by the song "That's How You Know" from the movie Enchanted.
> 
> I'm planning to upload one section a day, but if I can't, I'll catch up with all the ones I missed when I get a chance to upload.
> 
> I hope everyone enjoys the one shots.

The first note Gracia ever received from Maes was on their first date. She’d found it once he’d finished dropping her off at her apartment. It was tucked into her handbag and simply said:

 

_I had a great time. Can’t wait to see you again._

 

That short note confirmed her decision to go out with him. Thereafter, she found notes whenever they went on dates together. They were hidden beneath her napkin, or slipped into her handbag, like the first one had been, or in the bouquets of flowers he brought her. They never said anything profound, just things like:  “ _You look beautiful_ ” or “ _I hope you like the food_ ” or “ _Have a wonderful weekend_.” Yet, they made her smile, and she kept them safe in her journal.

 

When Maes was stationed in Ishval, the notes became letters. And, though she knew he tried desperately to make sure that she didn’t know too much of the savage reality of the war, the pages of his carefully constructed letters seeped with blood. So, she wrote back to him about home, and the restaurants they’d visited together, and her job as a teacher—anything that she could think of that would distract him. She especially told him how much she loved him and couldn’t wait to see him again. She hoped it would give him the will to keep going, despite the horrors he witnessed.

 

It took a long time after Ishval for Maes to start leaving her notes again. But, he did. And, after they’d married and had Elicia, he left her notes as well. Ones that said: “ _You are Daddy’s Princess_ ” and “ _Have a beautiful day_.” Gracia once pointed out that Elicia was too young to read the notes, but Maes waved aside her logic and said that she would read them when she was older. So, Gracia started keeping Elicia’s notes alongside hers in her journal, for her to read when she grew up.

 

Maes’ note-leaving habit was so excessive, that for months after his funeral, Gracia would find notes addressed to either her or Elicia around the house. Some of them were in common places: her handbag, or the pocket of Elicia’s coat. Others were hidden under flowerpots or in the linen cupboard. She’d even found one hidden in the fridge once. Gracia kept every one of them, although the latter ones were a bit marred by her tears.

 

The last note she ever found from Maes had been tucked in between the pages of her favourite novel. It was addressed to both her and Elicia and said:

 

_Remember, my girls, that I’ll always love you._


	2. Flowers

The musty air of the bedroom was beginning to drive her crazy. The doctor ordered her to remain inside so that she could rest. Rest—the thought almost made her laugh. How could she rest after that—that—that _monster_ had ripped out her insides? How could she rest after she’d managed to murder her own child? She could still see it lying in the basket—the skeletal creature with blackened limbs and red eyes. She tried to take a deep breath, and hissed as pain slashed through her abdomen.

 

The doctor said that she was recovering well. She wasn’t vomiting up blood with each breath, and she could almost stand unaided. The pain, however, was something she would have to learn to live with. She supposed she deserved it, all things considered. She gingerly moved, and stiffened as she heard the bedroom door squeak. She raised her head, and squinted through the dimness of the room. The thick curtains and been pulled tightly shut, and the lights were off. Still, she knew Sig’s silhouette better than she knew her own name.

 

“What are you doing here?”

 

“I came to see you.” He moved across the room, and turned on the lamp next to her. She blinked hard, willing her eyes to adjust faster. In the meagre light of the lamp, she could see he was pale as wax, and he looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks. Even his clothes, which usually strained to contain his wonderful bulk, seemed to hang on him. A sickness that had nothing to do with her injury swept through her. She wanted to grab his hand. She didn’t. He hesitated, and then lowered himself slowly onto the edge of the bed. He watched her anxiously, as though he was afraid she’d order him out the room.

 

“How are you feeling?”

 

“It’s still painful when I move.” Or breathe. Or anything really. “But the doctor seems confident that I’m recovering well.”

 

“Do you need more medicine?”

 

“Maybe later. I think I’m just going to try and rest. How’ve you been?”

 

“Okay.”

 

A strained silence fell, and Izumi wondered what she could say to him after she’d—after things had gone so terribly wrong. Then, she caught sight of something half-hidden behind Sig.

 

“What are those?”

 

“What?”

 

“Those things behind you.”

 

“Oh.”

 

He turned, scooped up the item, and held it out for her to see. It was a bouquet of flowers—sunflowers to be precise. And, from the brown paper, and the clumsily tied ribbon, it was one Sig had made himself. She reached for it with shaking hands.

 

“Sunflowers?”

 

“They’re your favourites, right?”

 

“Yes, but where did you get . . .”

 

“It doesn’t matter. I just thought that since you can’t go out and see the sun, I’d bring a bit of sunshine to you. You said they make you happy.”

 

“They do.”

 

She ran a finger along the petals of the sunflowers. “They’re beautiful.”

 

“I’m glad you like them.” He started to get up, and she caught his hand.  His eyes travelled to her hand, and then moved back up to hers. “Sig, . . . ”

 

“I know, dear.” He squeezed her hand. “I’m sorry too. I should’ve noticed what you were planning. I should’ve done more to stop you.”

 

“You couldn’t have. I would have found a way.” Tears coursed down her face, and she saw tears in Sig’s eyes as well. “I’m so sorry.”

 

He wiped away her tears with the pads of his thumbs. “I love you, Izumi.”

 

“I love you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here we have Sig and Izumi. This couple is one of my favourite couples. They love each other so much, despite all they've been through.
> 
> As always, I love to hear your feedback!


	3. Hugs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I really don't think I'll be able to upload tomorrow (and this chapter was meant to be tomorrow's chapter). Thus, I am uploading this now for you all to enjoy!

Mei tightened her grip on the railing. Below her, the gardens of the Imperial Palace were spread out. The ponds glistened in the orange-gold light of the setting sun, and the bougainvilleas were flowering—red, yellow, white and pink petals littered the cobblestone paths and the neatly trimmed lawns. But, none of that really registered with Mei. Her mind was on the meeting she’d just had with the Clan Representatives and the Emperor.

 

Xiao Mei was seated on her shoulder and making reassuring trills in her ear. She reached up a hand and rubbed Xiao Mei behind the ears.

 

“They’re being stupid, don’t you think?”

 

Xiao Mei gave an agreeing chirrup, and nuzzled her neck. Then, there was a sharp rapping on the balcony door behind her. She spun around and saw Alphonse standing there, with an arm full of books and scrolls. His other hand was resting lightly against the screen door. As always, she was slightly surprised at how good he looked in his traditional Xingese changshan.

 

“Hi Mei, I’m here for the alkahestry lesson,” then, he caught sight of Mei’s face, “unless you’re too busy?”

 

She took a deep breath, and pushed a stray strand of hair out of her eyes. “I’m sorry Alphonse. I completely forgot about the lesson.”

 

Alphonse immediately set down his things on the little table on the balcony, and went to Mei’s side.

 

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

 

She heaved a sigh. “The Zhao Clan was complaining over my appointment as Imperial Alkahestrist.”

 

“Again?”

 

“Yes. They keep saying that they want someone more experienced in the position.”

 

“In other words, they want someone from one of the more powerful clans in the position.”

 

“Yes.” It impressed her how quickly he grasped the ruthless reality of Xingese politics.

 

“And, what did Ling say about it?”

 

“He said that I was the most qualified person for the job and when they manage to find another alkahestrist who has saved hundreds of lives, and fought against a homunculus with the powers of God, then they can suggest replacement. Until then, he told them to shut it.”

 

Mei couldn’t stop a little smile at the memory of Ling’s outrage. Alphonse chuckled.

 

“You see? Ling knows how great you are, so there’s no problem.”

 

“I know Ling won’t replace me, it’s just,” she looked away over the Palace gardens, “I thought I was done proving myself to the nobility.”

 

She heard Alphonse’s footsteps behind her, and he hugged her from behind. She sighed and melted into his embrace, despite the anxiety knotting her stomach.

 

“Mei . . . I know it’s difficult, but you can’t let these idiots get to you. You’re an incredibly skilled alkahestist, beautiful, and a Princess as well. Obviously people are going to be threatened by that.”

 

She felt the blush rising in her cheeks. “You think I’m beautiful?”

 

His grip tightened on her, and he gave that awkward chuckle that meant he was embarrassed. “O-of course I think you’re beautiful.  I think you’re the most beautiful woman in Xing. Now, would you stop worrying for five minutes?”

 

Xiao Mei re-emphasised his words with a series of reassuring trills. Mei laughed. With Alphonse’s arms wrapped securely around her, it was very hard to worry about anything.

 

“Okay, okay. I’ll try. And you’ll try and master how to throw knives properly.”

 

“But that’s hard!”

 

“I don’t care. If you want to master remote alkahestry, you need to be able to throw knives properly.”

 

“Aww, man. Can’t I not and say I did?”

 

“Nope.”

 

“When did you become such a slave driver?”

 

“When did you become so lazy?”

 

And, bickering happily, Mei let Alphonse lead her back into the Imperial Palace for another lesson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's the fluffy Almei section of the fic. These two are always so cute . . . I love writing them.
> 
> Have a good weekend!


	4. Letters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right. I think I was being a bit ambitious with the ideas of daily updates, so instead, I will upload the next few chapters this weekend, and the remaining few on the weekend.

Second Lieutenant Maria Ross allowed her fingers run along the ornate carvings on the edge of the table. The last time she’d stayed in Xing, she’d been in the Yao complex, one of the central points in the Yao Clan’s lands. There, the furniture had been well made, but lacked the indicate carvings that the furniture here in the Imperial Palace had. Her room alone was so full of elaborately carved wooden chairs, decorative pottery and expensive wall hangings that Maria half-felt that she had been assigned rooms in a museum.

 

She sighed and sat down on the futon. The last time she’d been sent to Xing, she’d really had had little choice in the matter. The world had believed that she was a murderer, and that Colonel Mustang had killed her as revenge for her “murdering” his best friend. Both things were blatantly untrue. The Colonel had realised that she was being framed for the murder, and helped her escape before she could be executed for it. Faking her death had been her only option, and thus, to do it, she’d had to go to Xing. She’d been taken to the Yao complex by Old Man Fu, and once there, she’d worked hard, not only to learn the language, but to be less of a burden on the kind people who’d given her sanctuary. She’d done everything from till fields, to build and sharpen weapons, to babysitting the younger members of the Clan. Her efforts had won her the respect of the Yao Clan, and thus with the current Emperor.

 

So, when the need for a liaison between Xing and Amestris had arisen, both the Colonel and the Emperor had suggested her name—alongside alkahestrist-in-training Alphonse Elric. She couldn’t turn down the offer, not after all that the Colonel had done for her. Still, she missed her parents, and wondered if they were coping without her to help around the house, or to listen to their stories, or to make sure they took their medication.

 

Suddenly, there was a timid tapping on the screen door.

 

“ _Enter”_ Maria called, stumbling a little over the foreign words.

 

She and Alphonse had practiced speaking Xingese on the train here, but she was still a little rusty, and Alphonse only had the barest grasp of the language.

 

A servant in a plain grey changshan entered the room and bowed.

 

“ _A letter came for you from Central City in Amestris,”_ he said, holding out the letter.

 

Maria frowned. She’d barely been here two weeks? Who could be sending her mail? The only way mail could travel so fast was if it was sent express, and people didn’t send express mail unless . . .

 

_Unless something really terrible happened._

 

Her mouth went dry. She rushed across the room, and took the envelope with shaking fingers. Then, she recognised the writing on the envelope. Denny. Denny Bosch was writing to her. She almost laughed out loud in relief as she tore open the envelope and scanned the letter. She caught bits and pieces of gossip about people they knew, reports on how her favourite bookshop and stationers were doing, and a long section detailing on how her parents were doing very well, and that Denny had spent an entire weekend visiting them.

 

She realised she was smiling as she folded up the letter.

 

“ _Is everything all right?”_ the servant asked.

 

“ _Everything is great. I just received a small taste of home_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's Denny and Maria. These two are so sweet. I thought it was so amazing how angry he got over her "death," and their reunion was so sweet! I love these two.


	5. Music

Lan Fan knew that part of the Young Lord’s duties when he became Emperor would be to attend State functions, and that at these functions, the Emperor would have to mingle with the nobility, the foreign dignitaries and a number of other important people. But, she’d never allowed herself to think about the fact that there would be _women_ at these functions. Women with elaborate silk dresses, exquisite faces painted with the best cosmetics and gentle, bell-like voices. Women who fawned over the Emperor, and flirted with him, and sometimes, even proposed to him.

 

Tonight was a particularly difficult evening. The Emperor was attending an extravagant dinner, hosted by a member of the Wong Clan. He was hoping to begin negotiations on a few trade agreements he had in mind between the various Clans. The host had set out several tables, laden with various hors d'oeuvres—fresh fruits, small skewers of succulent meat, stuffed mushrooms and a dozen of other things—in the large courtyard. The area was lit b strings of paper lanterns that ran between the gnarled branches of the decorative trees. The  female guests were all dressed in glittering jewels and fine silks—and they had each attempted to win the Emperor’s affections. Though the Emperor had politely redirected their attentions, Lan Fan could tell he was getting irritated—particularly when they interrupted his attempts at opening negotiations.

 

As he spoke to a woman—one whose face was carefully made up to resemble a porcelain doll—Lan Fan heard the hoarseness of his voice. She slipped away, keeping her eyes on him, and refilled his glass with water from her own water skin—she didn’t trust the punch not to be spiked with some form of aphrodisiac. She returned and placed the glass in his hand.

 

“Thank you, Lan Fan,” he said, giving her a smile that made her cheeks heat beneath her mask.

 

The woman near the Emperor glared at her, and gave a contemptuous sniff. Lan Fan ignored the way the woman’s eyes lingered on Lan Fan’s practical uniform and automail arm.

 

“As I was saying before I was _rudely_ interrupted, the entire court is buzzing about your impressive skills in unarmed combat. I was hoping you’d give us a small demonstration of your skills.”

 

The Emperor gave a tight smile. “I’m afraid that would be a pathetic display. The aim of a fight is to end your opponent as quickly as possible. So, watching me knock out a bunch of men in less than five minutes isn’t really worth the trouble.”

 

“Oh,” the woman looked confused. “Well, we’ve also heard that you are a spectacular _guzheng_ player.”

 

Lan Fan wondered how the woman had come across that particular piece of information. Though the Emperor was a talented musician, he rarely advertised that fact. He found it a bit embarrassing.

 

The Emperor’s eyes widened as the woman laid a hand on his arm. “I’d love to hear you play sometime?”

 

Lan Fan moved to intercept the woman—touching the Emperor was completely prohibited—but the Emperor had already maneuvered out of her grip.

 

“I’m sorry,” he said as he smoothed his robes, “But I only play for beautiful women, and I don’t see any around here.”

 

The woman’s eyes widened, then she went red and stormed off, shoving aside servants and guests alike. Lan Fan stepped closer to the Emperor.

 

“You shouldn’t have done that, Your Majesty.”

 

“I know. But, can I tell you a secret?”

 

Lan Fan nodded, and leant closer to him.

 

“It felt really good.”

 

***

 

Lan Fan sighed as she laid her mask upon her neatly folded uniform. The remainder of the night had been, well, a disaster would be putting it mildly. The nobility had spent the rest of the evening shooting filthy looks at the Emperor and refusing to engage with him any more than propriety demanded. Any attempts at negotiating a trade agreement had been met with vague promises—which enraged the Emperor. She was grateful that the host had decided to bring the evening to a close early. They hadn’t even reached dessert—a fact that the Emperor lamented quite loudly on their way home.

 

Lan Fan yawned, smoothed down the pyjamas that the Elrics had given her as a belated birthday present. Though she didn’t really like most Amestrian clothing, these short trousers and loose shirt were quite comfortable. She particularly liked how the colouring reflected the design of her mask. She stifled another yawn and headed towards her futon.

 

_I love you too much_

 

_To live without you loving me back_

 

_I love you too much . . ._

 

There was someone singing? Where? She paused and listened. The music was coming from outside. She made her way to the window and concentrated. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. She felt her senses expand, and she detected a familiar presence on the roof above her. She jumped out the window, grabbed onto the edge of the frame and then scaled the wall until she was on the roof. The waxing moon lit up the night. But, that didn’t catch her attention. Her focus was on the Emperor in front of her. He’d abandoned the Imperial robes in favour of loose, black trousers and little else. He had set up his _guzheng_ on the roof. Moonlight glinted off the tortoiseshell picks as his fingers danced over the strings.  The music cascaded from the instrument, and its magnificence made her eyes prick. He was singing softly along to the melody.

 

_I live for your touch_

 

_I whisper your name night after night_

 

_I love you too much . . ._

 

“Your Majesty? What are you doing here?”

 

He looked at her, and gave a gentle smile. “I said that I only play for beautiful women, so here I am.”

 

Lan Fan was grateful that the darkness hid her blush. She swallowed hard, and folded her legs beneath her, as the Emperor continued her private concert.

 

_You live in my soul_

 

_Your heart is my goal_

 

_There's love above love and it's mine_

 

_Cause I love you_

 

_There's love above love and it's yours_

 

_Cause I love you_

 

_There's love above love and it's ours_

 

_If you love me_

 

_As much_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we have a sweet Lingfan. I adore this couple, and I thought this was a very appropriate moment for them. The song is the song Manolo sings to Maria in the movie "Book of Life." It's a film I highly recommend, particularly because of the characters La Muerte and Xibalba!


	6. Fight

Major General Olivier Mira Armstrong surveyed the landscape spread out before her. She was standing at the highest point of the Briggs Fortress. This vantage point offered her the best view of the snow-covered landscape. She could see everything, from the sparse, snow-coated pine trees, to the few iced rivers, to the jagged, threatening peaks of the Briggs mountain range. This place, besides offering her the best view, also provided her with something else. Solitude. She took a deep breath, ignoring the way the wind whipped her hair out, and tightened the steel grip she had on the hilt of her sword. In her other hand was a yellow paper, crumpled almost beyond recognition. She tossed it into the wind, and watched as it was whipped away.

 

The door behind her squeaked, and then slammed shut.

 

“I gave express orders for you to leave me alone.”

 

“I’m not under your command.” The answering voice sounded deep, and reminded her of two stones grinding against each other.

 

She turned and saw Scar walking towards her. The wind made his long hair blow in all directions, and his white coat flare out behind him. Once he got close enough, he fixed her with his piercing, red gaze.

 

“How many?” he asked.

 

She pressed her lips together. “Over a dozen men,” she said at last. “All taken out by a Drachman ambush.”

 

He winced. “That must have been a devastating loss for—”

 

“Loss? Ishvallan, the people I lost were _soldiers_. We’re all soldiers at a time where our country is at war with the lands along our borders. That means we all know that when we put on our uniforms, there’s a good chance we’ll die wearing them. There’s no point denying it. Just like there’s no point in weeping over the dead.”

 

“You need to grieve.”

 

She made a dismissive noise in the back of her throat. “What good will it do if I turn into a snivelling mess? It won’t help anyone. Not my soldiers. Not my country. No one.”

 

“It will help you.”

 

She laughed, and even she could hear how bitter the sound was. “Forget it, Ishvallan.”

 

The only warning she had was a slight tightening around his eyes. Scar lunged forward, his right-hand extended, and she dodged that blow, and the two punches that followed.

 

“Ishvallan, what are you doing?” she demanded, drawing her sword.

 

He didn’t answer. Instead, he lashed out. She brought up her sword to counter, batted aside his blow, and tried to slice him open. He twisted, and attempted to smash his fist into her face. She ducked, sliced at his legs and forced him to jump back. The next few moves were a blurred series of attack and counter-attack, and she was forced to rely more on her training than her senses. She could feel her rage building, deep and volcanic, in her core. Why was he attacking her? What did he want? She ducked another blow for her head, rolled, and slashed at his abdomen, forcing him to move back. He slammed his palm against the floor, and her beautiful Fort cracked and crumpled at his touch.

 

She erupted.

 

She came to her senses a few moments later. Scar was pinned beneath her, blood oozing out of a cut above his eyes. Her sword was lying on the ground next to them, blood marring the blade. Her hands were wrapped around his throat. She could feel the sweat streaming down her back, and dripping off her face. And, she realised there were tears mingling with it. They dripped onto his face. She released the stranglehold and Scar coughed a bit before speaking.

 

“Feel better?”

 

Bizarrely, she did. She rolled off him, and scooped up her sword. She wiped the blade clean with her gloves, and watched as Scar jumped to his feet.

 

He felt the wound on his forehead, and scowled at the blood on his fingertips.

 

“I’d better get this seen to, or Dr. Marcoh won’t let me hear the end of it. I’ll see you later.”

 

“You’ll see me in an hour, in my rooms.” Her burning gaze met his. “Don’t be late, Ishvallan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here is the part dedicated to my Mom's OTP: Scar and Olivier. These two are really hard to write romantically, so I hope that I did them justice.


	7. Sickness

Winry blinked hard, adjusted the work lamp hovering over her head and forced her eyelids open. She straightened her head and tried to stifle a yawn.

 

_Just a few more repairs, and then you can go to bed._

She had so much work to do, as evidenced by the sheer amount of mechanical limbs and tools strewn around her worktable, and the floor. There were hands that had come apart, plating that had fallen off, and joints that had seized up completely. She dragged an automail arm in front of her, and grabbed a wrench. She tightened the bolts in the elbow joint and checked the movement of the wrist and fingers. As she worked, her head drooped until her forehead was resting on the desk. She yawned and her eyelids slowly lowered.

 

_I’ll finish the arm off later. I’ll just close my eyes for a second . . ._

***

“I’m sorry, but Winry can’t come to the phone right now.”

 

Ed’s voice, though he was trying to speak quietly, yanked her back to consciousness. Winry groaned, and lifted her head.

 

“How long was I out for?” she asked herself, as she rubbed the back of her neck.

 

Then, she blinked in shock. She’d fallen asleep in her workshop, but she was now sitting on the massive double bed she shared with Ed—she could tell that much, even in the dark. How had she gotten to their bedroom? And, what was spread over her? It didn’t feel like a blanket. She fumbled in the darkness, and flicked on the light. Immediately, the room was filled with a warm, orange glow. She saw everything was in its place, from the earrings she’d laid out on the dressing table, to the spare blankets she kept on a chair in the corner of the room. Except, someone had thrown a red coat over her. A familiar red coat. Winry smiled, as she swung her legs off the bed.

 

She walked towards Ed’s voice, which was coming from his study, just down the hall. There had been arguments over where her workshop and his study would be located in their house. Winry had secured the entire ground floor for her workshop, surgical theatre and the recovery rooms. Ed, on the other hand, had won the rooms adjacent to their bedroom for his study and his library.

 

She pushed open the door to the study and peered inside. As usual, the room looked chaotic. There were books everywhere, not only on the bookshelves that lined the walls, but stacked in precarious piles around the room. His desk was covered in papers, all of which had writing on them. Most of the writing wasn’t even Amestrian. The floor was covered with chalk symbols and circles—although even Winry could see that he’d left them incomplete as a safety measure. Ed was seated at the desk, the telephone pressed to his ear, and oblivious to the world.

 

“Hello, I’m calling from Rockbell-Elric Automail Outfitters. I’m calling to let you know that Winry won’t be able to make your appointment tomorrow. She’s come down with the flu . . . no, no, it’s nothing serious. The doctor just told her she needs to rest for a few days. She should be back to help everyone within a few days.  . . yes, yes, I’ll tell her. Goodbye.”

 

Ed hung up and scratched off something on the piece of paper in front of him. Winry peered at it, and saw it was a list of all her clients.

 

“What are you doing, Ed?” Winry asked as she walked into the room, and barely stifling a yawn.

 

Ed jumped, and turned around in his chair. “Winry? What are you doing out of bed? You’re supposed to be sleeping.”

 

“I’m fine. What are you doing with my client list?”

 

“Just making sure you get some rest. All your clients have been really understanding about the fact that you’ve come down with flu and need rest for a few days.”

 

“But I’m not sick . . .”

 

“You still need rest. Doctor’s orders.”

 

“What doctor?”

 

“Me. Dr. Edward Elric at your service,” he said, standing up and pulling her into a hug.

 

She giggled. “You’re no doctor.”

 

“I’m still legally obligated to take care of you.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Now, go get some rest. You look exhausted.”

 

“Sure thing, Alchemy Freak.”

 

“Sleep well, Gearhead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's the Edwin section of the story. My sister is an Edwin shipper, and was really happy when I showed her this part of the fic.
> 
> I thought the idea of Ed forcing Winry to take a break was too cute, so here it is.


	8. Cooking

Lan Fan watched the Emperor with wary eyes as he struggled through another set of documents. The last few weeks had been so strenuous for him. There had been meeting after meeting with Clan Representatives, days where he’d heard appeals directly from the Xingese people and had to pass judgement on their problems, and meetings with the various foreign dignitaries that visited. If that wasn’t enough, the Emperor spent hours preparing for each event. He had barely slept over the past few days, and, worse, he’d barely eaten.

 

Lan Fan had been with him the entire time, not only to guard him, but also to offer whatever emotional support she could. It also meant that she hadn’t eaten either—though the Emperor had tried to insist she did. The lack of food made her head pound. She tried to ignore it, and focused on the Emperor. She could see his hands shaking. She cleared her throat, and the Emperor glanced at her.

 

“Your Majesty, perhaps you should retire for tonight? You’ve been here for hours.”

 

“But I still have so much work to do . . .”

 

“You won’t be able to do any work if you’re exhausted, Your Majesty.”

 

The Emperor sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. “You’re right. You’re right.”

 

He stood up, swayed and grabbed the desk.

 

“Your Majesty?”

 

“Don’t worry. I’m fine.”

 

He walked towards the door on unsteady legs. Lan Fan hovered by his side, ignoring the weakness in her own limbs. She couldn’t collapse now. The Emperor needed her. They managed to make it through the corridors that lead between carved, wooden pillars, and were lit by low-burning oil lamps. She kept her senses straining for any threats lurking in the shadows, or behind the woven tapestries that decorated the walls. They were almost at their chambers when the Emperor’s legs buckled. Lan Fan lunged forward to grab him—only someone else got there before her. Greed. The homunculus looked the same as he always did—spiky, dark hair, sharp teeth in a cocky grin, well-defined chest covered in his Ultimate Shield and his wine-coloured eyes. Except, now his eyes were glinting with concern.

 

“Why do you never take care of yourself, you damn pissant?” Greed asked, as he threw the Emperor over his shoulder.

 

“Can’t . . . help it . . .”

 

“Yeah, well, from now on I’m not letting you leave my sight without a sandwich.” Greed tightened his grip. “Now, let’s get you to our chambers.”

 

Greed made his way up the corridor. Lan Fan followed directly behind him, trying to ignore the way the floor rippled beneath her feet. It suddenly tilted to the left, and she would have fallen, had a hand not grabbed her elbow to steady her. She twisted, and looked into Greed’s worried face.

 

“You okay, Toots?”

 

“I’m fine.”

 

“Liar,” the Emperor stated.

 

Greed frowned. “I’m with the dumbass on this one. You probably need to eat as well.”

 

She tried to pull away, but Greed’s grip was firm. “I’m fine. It’s the Emperor who’s collapsed.”

 

“Yeah, but I know you, Toots. You always neglect yourself.”

 

“I’m _fine,_ ” she repeated for the third time. “Just take care of the Emperor.”

 

“I have two hands, Toots. Which means I can take care of both of you.”

 

Ignoring her protests, he led her towards their chambers, and Lan Fan noticed two things. Firstly, the corridors, which should have been filled with servants and guards, were deserted. Secondly, there was a smell wafting on the air. She inhaled deeply, and her mouth watered. A moment later, the Emperor moaned.

 

“smells . . . good.”

 

Greed chuckled. “Just wait,” he said as they reached their chambers.

 

He nudged open the screen door with his foot. Lan Fan immediately noticed that the table was covered with used kitchen utensils, vegetable peelings, olive oil, spices, flour and a host of other ingredients. The wood-burning stove had a fire crackling inside it. On the stove were several bubbling pots, which sent plumed of fragranced steam into the air. Greed ignored it all, and gently deposited Emperor on the daybed, taking care to smooth back the Emperor’s bangs as he did so. Greed then guided Lan Fan to a seat next to the Emperor.

 

“You two wait here, while I get the food.”

 

He grabbed an apron that was draped over a chair, and tied it around his waist. Lan Fan fought not to laugh. The apron was bright pink, and it had the words: _KISS THE COOK_ written on it. He caught sight of her gaze, and winked at her.

 

“If you two like my cooking, you’ll be doing exactly what my apron says.”

 

“Greedy bastard,” the Emperor said.

 

Lan Fan blushed. Greed chuckled, and went back to cooking. He tasted from each pot, stirring and adding various spices until he was satisfied. Then, he grabbed three bowls—which could have passed for buckets in her opinion—and started spooning huge helpings from various pots into them. Once the bowls were almost overflowing, he placed one bowl in front of her, and one in front of the Emperor. He then handed her a set of Amestrian utensils, which he pulled out of the pocket of his apron.

 

“Yes, yes, I know the Xingese eat with chopsticks, but you’ll need spoons for this.”

 

Lan Fan examined the food. She could see it was some sort of stew, but she couldn’t recognise it. The Emperor sniffed the stew, grabbed a spoon and took a bite. His eyes flew open and he started shovelling the food into his mouth as fast as he could.

 

“Lan Fan, you have to try this. It’s amazing!” he said around a mouthful of food.

 

She raised an eyebrow and warily scooped a little into her mouth. Her eyes widened as flavours zinged across her tongue. She could taste grains of fluffy rice, the tanginess of lemons and pepper, tomatoes, as well as succulent roast chicken and prawns. All of this was accompanied by juicy mushrooms, and a pleasant heat that surged up her throat. It was perfectly balanced, absolutely delicious—and she’d finished half the bowl without realising it.

 

“What is this?” she asked Greed, who was watching them eat with a smug expression on his face.

 

“It’s jambalaya. It’s a recipe from Aerugo. You like it?”

 

“I love it!” the Emperor said, as he finished his second helping and took a third. “But, why the sudden need to cook? Usually you’re happy to let the servants do it.”

 

“He just wanted a chance to show off,” Lan Fan said, as she ate another bite.

 

“True, but mainly I wanted to share a meal with my two favourite people in the world.”

 

“Aww, I’m touched,” the Emperor teased.

 

“Shut up, you little pissant.”

 

“Make me, dumbass.”

 

As the two of them bickered, Lan Fan served herself another helping, and let a small smile creep across her face. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's mt OT3! I bet everyone knew that these guys were coming up, considering I am obsessed with Greelingfan. I hope you all enjoyed this part of the story. 
> 
> Yes, I firmly believe Greed is an excellent chef, and owns a pink "Kiss the Cook" apron


	9. Blankets

Dr Knox shut the door to his practice and locked it. He shivered and lit another cigarette. Another late night at work in Ishval. Still, at least the work he was doing here made him feel . . . proud. Like he was accomplishing something worthwhile. And, though he knew that no amount of help he gave the Ishvallans now would ever erase what he’d done during the war, a small part of him looked forward to the day when the number of people he’d managed to help exceeded the number of people he’d hurt.

 

Dr. Knox pulled his jacket tighter around him and made his way through the paved streets. His home wasn’t too far away, just through the market square and past a few lines of white, stone houses with little gardens in front of them. Dr Knox didn’t know the details, but apparently the Ishvallans and State Alchemists had worked together to provide the city with a consistent source of water. They had taken full advantage of the water by growing crops on the outskirts of the city, as well as their own gardens with vegetables, herbs and a few flowers. The fragrances wafted into the air, and mingled oddly with his cigarette smoke.

 

He turned into the street leading to his home, and froze. His cigarette fell to the ground. There was light spilling out from the windows of his house and onto the street. His heart slammed against his ribs. This wasn’t possible. It was late. His wife—Amelia—was asleep—and his son had moved out months ago. There wasn’t anyone awake inside it.

 

 _Unless,_ a dark voice hissed in his mind, _unless someone has broken in._

 

Dr, Knox went cold. He fumbled to draw the knife he kept on him at all times. It was a habit he’d picked up in Ishval. Once he had the knife, he crept towards his front door, wishing that he carried a shot gun instead. He listened at the front door. Nothing. No noise whatsoever. He wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or a bad one. He sucked in a breath, and grabbed the doorknob with trembling fingers. He quietly turned the doorknob and slipped inside. The house was the same as it usually was—since Amelia had returned, she’d made sure that he kept his messiness to a minimum. The books and clothes he usually kept scattered across the floor were homed in various cupboards or shelves around the house. There were now family photographs decorating the walls. He gulped and crept down the corridor, towards the light in the parlour. His grip on the knife tightened. He peered in, and felt the fear drain away.

 

Amelia was seated on one of their sandstone couches with a book on her lap. Her head was resting in her one hand, and she was making a high-pitched whistling noise as she snored—a sound he found endearing. He stared at her for a second. She was so beautiful, even with the faint wrinkles on her cheeks, and the grey strands of hair. He sheathed his knife, and went over to her. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, and she mumbled something. He chuckled, and carefully closed the book, taking note of her page number so he could tell her later. He then went to the linen cupboard and pulled out one of their spare blankets. He returned to the room. Briefly, he wished he was a younger, stronger man so he could scoop her up and carry her to bed. Instead, he had to content himself with draping the blanket over her, and sitting on the couch alongside her. He lowered her down so that her head rested comfortably on his lap, and turned off the light. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I adore Dr. Knox. He actually reminds me a lot of a surgeon I once had (and that surgeon saved my life).
> 
> The part in the anime where his family returns and you hear them trying to clean up . . . and he begs God to allow him to enjoy a cup of coffee with his family. It breaks my heart and I want to hug him so badly at that point.
> 
> A part of me believes that he did manage to reconcile with his family, and so I wanted to write a little about it. 
> 
> Hope he was in character!


	10. Coffee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, now that the week is over, here's another chapter for your viewing pleasure.

“Thank you for agreeing to stay and help me with the paperwork, Lieutenant.”

 

“It’s not a problem, sir.” She pulled up a chair and seated herself at the Colonel’s desk.

 

At this time of the evening, the office was deserted—their team had already headed home. Still, she could tell who worked at which desk, even without them there. Havoc’s desk was covered with cigarette stubs, Fuery’s had telecommunications equipment strewn across it, and Breda’s desk was absurdly organised. Falman’s desk was covered in both papers and books, with handwritten notes everywhere. But, it was obvious which desk belonged to the Colonel. It was the biggest and messiest one in the room.

 

“Are you sure? Didn’t you have plans for this evening?” he asked, as he cleared a space for her to work.

 

“Nothing I couldn’t cancel, sir.”

 

Riza’s only plans had been doing the basic maintenance on her weapons and climbing into bed, but those were all capable of being postponed—except, she had called one of her neighbours and asked him to feed Black Hayate and make sure the dog was all right.

 

“I appreciate that, Lieutenant.”

 

“Besides, sir, if I leave the paperwork to you, it might never get done.”

 

“I’m not that bad!”

 

She raised an eyebrow and he swallowed. “You have to admit that the paperwork on Ishval is perfectly in order.”

 

“I never said it wasn’t, sir.”

 

If she was honest, she had seen other officers who were far worse with their paperwork than the Colonel. And, over the years, she’d noticed that most of the paperwork that the Colonel had forgotten to submit was paperwork regarding Edward Elric’s insubordination towards the Colonel, exact reports on how much Edward’s search for the Philosopher’s Stone cost the Colonel, reports on the damage Edward caused while in combat—basically any reports that could have had Edward court martialled mysteriously disappeared once they landed on the Colonel’s desk.

 

“I’ll be back in a minute, Lieutenant,” the Colonel said, getting to his feet.

 

“See you,” she called after him, as he left the office through the door that led to the adjoining kitchenette.

 

Lieutenant General Grumman had given the Colonel the room with an adjoining kitchenette for his team—though Riza wasn’t sure whether it was because she was Grumman’s granddaughter or because Grumman had a soft spot for the Colonel. In any event, the team took full advantage of it by using it to store whatever snacks and warm drinks they could get their hands on.

 

She grabbed one of the first papers and read it over. It was a simple requisition form for more ammunition, which had been submitted by second Lieutenant Rebecca Catalina. She processed had the document, and two more, by the time the Colonel returned. He had two cups in his hands, one of which he held out to her.

 

“Coffee, Lieutenant?”

 

She took the cup from him. “Thank you, sir.”

 

She breathed in the decadent aroma, and took a sip. Warmth filled her mouth, and she detected a nutty note to the slightly bitter aftertaste. It was a phenomenal blend. The Colonel kept the source of his brew a close secret, but he never said no when she asked him for a cup. She took another sip, sent down her cup, and went to work

 

***

 

Riza soon noticed something strange about her coffee. No matter how much she drank from it, the cup never seemed to empty. Furthermore, it never seemed to get cold. There was also a suspiciously innocent expression on the Colonel’s face. After a while, she decided to investigate. She stretched, and got to her feet.

 

“Are you all right, Lieutenant?”

 

“I just need a latrine break, sir.”

 

“All right.”

 

Riza slipped out the door. She made sure that her footsteps were audible as she walked away, but then she stopped, and snuck back to the office. She peered through the crack in the door. The Colonel was standing up at his desk, his head cocked. She held still, and forced her breathing to slow. Like her, the Colonel’s time in Ishval had sharpened his senses. Apparently, he didn’t hear anything, because he quickly darted into the kitchenette. In a moment, he’d returned, a plunger of coffee in hand. He poured it into her cup, and set down the plunger. He reached into the drawer, and rummaged around. Her eyes widened—why would he need an ignition glove? As she watched, he snapped his fingers. Fire engulfed her cup for a moment, and when the flames dissipated, she saw plumes of steam rising from it. The Colonel sat back down, removed his glove and slipped it back into the drawer.

 

Riza waited a few more moments and re-entered the room.

 

The Colonel looked up and grinned. “That was quick. Everything all right?”

 

“Yes, sir.” She sat back down and slyly examined her cup.

 

The Colonel had excellent control over his alchemy. There weren’t even scorch marks on the desk. She couldn’t suppress a smile as she sipped from her cup.

 

“Why are you smiling, Lieutenant?”

 

“No reason, sir.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, what did you think? For some reason, I struggle with Royai, so I'd love to hear if I managed to have them come across well. 
> 
> Have a great day!


	11. Aid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, we're getting close to the end now. I hope everyone's been enjoying these stories so far! :D

“Oh, for fucks sake!”  Rebecca shouted, and she hurled her shoe across the street, nearly taking out a passing pedestrian.

 

Today was just not going her way. First, she’d tried to return a blouse she’d bought in East City because it didn’t fit well, and the shop assistant said that she could only return it to the store she’d purchased it from. Never mind the fact that the stores belonged to the same franchise. Then, she’d tried to purchase a pair of trousers, but the store didn’t have her size because _apparently_ the women in Central City didn’t have asses. Then, she’d gone to the butcher in order to pick up the special order of spiced sausages she’d placed two weeks ago, only to be told that the shop assistant never processed her order. Then, she’d spent nearly an hour trying to find the ingredients she needed for the cake she wanted to bake for Elicia’s birthday, and hadn’t been able to find most of them. And now, her damn heels had broken, leaving her sprawled in the middle of a busy sidewalk in Central City, half-chocking on the fumes of the cars as they sped past, and receiving weird looks from the other pedestrians.

 

She groaned and ran a hand over her face, wondering if this day could get any worse—until she caught sight of her shopping bag. The brown paper had torn, and sent her groceries sprawling across the sidewalk. The flour had ripped open, and mixed with the spilt milk, making a clumpy mess. Worse, the eggs had smashed all over the sidewalk.

 

“Perfect! That’s just perfect!” She threw up her hands in frustration.

 

“Second Lieutenant Catalina? What are you doing here?”

 

She twisted around and craned her neck up to stare at the looming figure above her.

 

“Major Armstrong?”

 

"Yes, it is I! Alex Louis Armstrong! Now, how can I assist you?”

 

Of course it was him. Even though he wasn’t wearing his uniform, there was no mistaking his wonderfully muscular figure, or the elegant blonde curl that extended from his bald head. He reached out a hand towards her, and she took it gratefully. He pulled her to her feet, and she marvelled that such huge hands could be so gentle. But, as soon as she put weight on her one leg, it buckled beneath her. She would have slammed into the floor, had Alex not grabbed her around the waist—and though the pain from her ankle made her wince— being held in his arms made her tingle in a way she hadn’t experience in a long, _long,_ time.

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

“My stupid heel broke, and I must have sprained my ankle, which is just a fucking fantastic end to a fantastic day.”

 

“What happened?”

 

“Well . . . “ It took Rebecca  a few minutes to relate the long list of things which had gone wrong for her. Alex listened attentively, and when she was done, he frowned thoughtfully. Then, sparkles danced around his head.

 

“I have an idea!” he shouted.

 

He scooped her up and placed her on his shoulder.

 

“What are you doing?!” she shrieked as she tried to keep her balance.

 

She’d never realised how _tall_ the Major was. From her perch on his shoulder, she could clearly see far over the heads of the crowd, and down the busy street. Also, her seat was surprisingly comfortable, thanks to the broadness of his shoulders.

 

“I’m taking you to the Armstrong Mansion for medical attention and a soothing cup of tea. We also have a full pantry, and I will give you whatever you need for your baking.”

 

“There’s no need, Major. I can manage,” she said, wondering how the hell she was going to get down.

 

“Nonsense, Lieutenant. Aiding damsels in distress is a tradition that has been passed down the Armstrong line for generations!”

 

He placed his hand on her knee to steady her as he headed down the street. She glanced down at him. A State Alchemist who was kind, handsome, brave, and rich as well. He certainly checked all the boxes.

 

She decided that she would definitely be seeing a lot more of the Major in the future. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was another one of my Mom's shippings. She said that Rebecca is basically looking for a kind, brave, rich, handsome man, and Alex Louis Armstrong is all of the above, so why not?
> 
> As always, feedback is greatly appreciated.


	12. Maintenance

Lan Fan gritted her teeth as she tried to move her left arm again. Pain shot through her, as the automail joint screeched. She almost swore in frustration. She knew she’d been neglecting her automail lately, but she’d never thought that it become this damaged. Or this painful.

 

_If Winry were visiting, she would skin me alive._

 

Lan Fan braced herself, and tried to turn the arm so she could oil the elbow. Again, pain shot through her and the joint locked in place. She groaned. Now what? She glanced around. The various tools for automail maintenance spread out on the floor. There were spare nuts and bolts, wrenches, screwdrivers, a whetstone, an oil can, polish, a few extra screws and an alum key. The chaos of the tools contrasted with the neatness of the remainder of the room, from the folded clothes in the drawers to the neatly arranged weapons in the chest at the foot of her futon.

 

She looked back at the tools. She knew exactly what to do to fix her automail—Winry had made sure of that—but she couldn’t reach properly to do it.

 

Suddenly, there was banging on her screen door.

 

“Enter,” she said.

 

Her eyes widened as the screen slid back and the Emperor’s body stepped into the room. She immediately jumped to her feet, and bowed, trying to hide her damaged automail from them. She flushed as she realised that her strapless shirt exposed the large amount of scar tissue on her shoulder for them to see. When she straightened, she realised that it was Greed in control of the Emperor’s body—the razor grin and swagger told her that much. The realisation did nothing to alleviate her embarrassment.

 

“Hey Toots,” he said, as he leant against the doorframe, and toyed with the hem of the red-and-gold Imperial robes they wore.

 

“Hello, Greed. What are you doing here?”

 

Greed shrugged. “Well, you didn’t turn up for guard duty during dinner, and Ling was driving me crazy with his worrying so I thought we’d better—”

 

"You were worried too, damnit!” the Emperor shouted as he snatched control.

 

Her eyes went wide. She’d missed her guard duty?!  What kind of bodyguard neglects their charge? Grandfather would be _so_ ashamed of her.

 

She bowed again. “Your Majesty, I’m so sorry for worrying you, I didn’t mean—”

 

“Don’t apologise. You take on far too much responsibility. Besides,” his eyes lingered on her automail, as she straightened. “It’s obvious that—”

 

“Damnit, Ling, warn me before you take over! It’s my turn today!” Greed obviously had grabbed control again.

 

Greed scowled for a second, before his eyes fixed on her again.

 

“The idiot’s right, though. It’s obvious something’s wrong with your automail.”

 

“Don’t call the Emperor an idiot.”

 

“Don’t change the subject. What’s wrong with your automail?”

 

She looked away. “I’ve been neglecting my automail maintenance,” she muttered. “It’s caused the arm to stop functioning. Don’t worry. I’ll fix it and be back on duty as soon as possible.”

 

Greed’s eyebrows rose. “You know, I’m starting to think that the automail is more pain than it’s worth. If this keeps happening, I’m going to kidnap Winry and force her to become your personal automail mechanic.”

 

“You can’t do that.”

 

“Watch me.”

 

With that, he stepped fully into the room, and shut the screen door behind them. Then, he came over and sat down on futon next to her.

 

“All right, Toots. Tell me what I—oh, fine, what _we_ —need to do.”

 

“What?”

 

“How can we help you fix your automail?”

 

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll manage.”

 

Greed snorted. “Pull another one, Toots. Now, tell me what we need to do.”

 

“It’s fine.”

 

“All right. Suit yourself, Toots.” Greed flopped backwards onto the futon. He stretched out and gave her a lazy smirk. “But, we’re not leaving until you let us sort out your automail. I guess that means the three of us are sharing a bed tonight.”      

 

Share a bed with them? Her traitorous imagination started thinking about what it would be like to spend a night being held by them. She flushed, and swallowed hard. She stamped out her desire, and tried to focus on the frustrating homunculus—and Emperor—in front of her. “Fine. My automail needs to be oiled, and there are some screws and bolts that need tightening. That should allow the joints to unlock. The screwdriver and wrench are on the floor next to you.”

 

He chuckled, and sat up. “So, you want us to give you a good screw?”

 

She turned even redder, if possible. “No!”

 

“I’m just messing with you, Toots.” He sat up, and gently tried to extend her automail towards them, wincing as the joints screeched.

 

“You weren’t kidding,” he muttered.

 

He grabbed the oil can, and started towards the shoulder joint.

 

“All right, damnit!” he suddenly yelled.

 

She started. “Greed, what—”

 

“Not you. The stupid pissant won’t shut up.”

 

He scowled, and moved to oil her finger joints instead.

 

“Yes, I’m being gentle . . . stop fussing like a chicken.” Obviously, the Emperor was arguing with him as he worked at oiling the joints and testing them. “Yes, I speak Amestrian . . . no, I’m not letting you try. I’m handling it. . . . Oh, shut up.”

 

She tried to concentrate on the one sided argument and  not think about how their touch made her feel. Logically, she knew her automail only gave her the barest sense of touch. No feeling of heat or cold, no sense of hard or soft. Just the knowledge that she was touching something. So their touch shouldn’t have made heat flare in her core.

 

It did.

 

“All done, Toots,” he said, as he examined his handiwork.

 

“Thank you, Greed.” She tried not to sound flustered. “All that I need to do now is sharpen the retractable blade and I’ll be done.”

 

“Sharpen the blade?”

 

“Yes.”

 

He scowled. “And how—all right, fine then, you little pissant!”

 

 “Greed?”

 

“No. It’s me.”

 

"Your Majesty?”

 

“I asked Greed to let me have control since I know how to sharpen blades, and he doesn’t,” he said smugly

 

“You do?”

 

“Of course!” the Emperor said indignantly. “Have you forgotten what Fu drilled into us? ‘Any warrior who uses a weapon must know how to take care of it.’ He taught me how to keep my Dao sword nice and sharp. Your blade isn’t so different from that.”

 

She nodded, and extended the blade. The Emperor grabbed a whetstone, and ran it along the edge. He repeated the movement over and over, while their other hand resting on her forearm to hold it in place. Again, she fought to ignore the feelings their touch aroused.

 

Suddenly, he paused. “You know, I could do without the comments, Greed . . . yes, I’m doing this right . . . yes, I’m sure.  . . what do you know about it, anyway?”

 

She bit her lip, and fondly shook her head. There were plenty of reasons why she should have told them to leave. Instead, she relaxed, and enjoyed the feeling of their hands on her automail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, another one for my OT3. I just can't resist these three idiots. Only, this time, Greed and Ling are sharing a body.
> 
> Hope you've all enjoyed this. Only 1 chapter to go now!


	13. Chocolates

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here's the last one shot. Thanks to everyone for reading!

A great book, a warm cup of tea and two chocolate biscuits. Was there any better way to spend a Valentine’s Day evening? Well, probably, but Sheska enjoyed the way she spent her Valentine’s Days.  She glanced at the tray in front of her once again. The novel was one of her favourites: _Jane Eyre_. The tea was a shade of milky brown, and the rich aroma of the cloves filled her nostrils as she inhaled the steam from the cup. The biscuits were her favourite kind—the ones with melted chocolate sandwiching the two halves together. Everything seemed perfect. She scooped up her tray, and made her way through her apartment. Everywhere in her apartment was filled with books. They filled all the bookshelves Sheska had managed to cram into the living room, dining room and hallway. They were piled against the walls, and in towering stacks all over the apartment. Sometimes, she thought that her apartment resembled a maze made out of books more than anything else.

 

As she was navigating her way, there was a loud banging on her front door. Sheska started, almost spilling her tea. She wasn’t expecting anyone so late. She set down her tray, on one of the stacks of books, and made her way to the door, carefully navigating

 

She opened the door and peered out.

 

“Hello?”

 

A man stood on the door step. He wore a postman’s uniform that certainly had seen better days and he sported a large, bristling mustache. Sheska gulped, and opened the door.

 

He scowled at her. “Are you Sheska Biblioplia?”

 

She swallowed hard. “Y-yes?”

 

“I have a package for you.” He shoved a clipboard towards her. “Sign here to conform the receipt of the package.”

 

She quickly scribbled her signature on the dotted line, and the man thrust a brown paper package towards her. She fumbled to grab it. He snatched his clipboard away, and stomped down the corridor without so much as a “Good Evening.” Sheska stared after him for a few minutes.

 

“What a rude man,” she muttered.

 

Sheska shut the door and inspected the package. She hadn’t ordered anything, nor did she recognise the handwriting on the package. She tugged on the string, and the wrapping unraveled.

 

Her jaw dropped. It was a massive box of chocolates—extremely expensive chocolates. Without even opening the box, she could see truffles made from white chocolate, dark chocolate or plain milk chocolate, dark chocolate flavoured with orange, chocolate peppermint swirls, chocolates filled with either peanuts or hazelnuts, cappuccino chocolates and chocolate domes filled with caramel. She recognised the label too: _Havoc’s General Store._

 

The blood rushed to her cheeks. She only knew one person named Havoc: the handsome Lieutenant she’d met while he was staying at the same hospital as her mother. She hadn’t really noticed his good looks at first. What she’d noticed was the angry, bitter expression on his face. She’d asked the nurses what was wrong with him, and eventually one of them had told her that the Lieutenant had been injured during a military operation and wouldn’t be able to walk again. And, though she tried, she couldn’t get him out of her mind. So, she resolved to give him the one thing that always made her feel better: books.

 

_Sheska swallowed hard, and tightened her grip on the stack of books in her arms. It should be easy. Just go in, drop off the books, and then leave. Simple. He’d never know she was there. She took a few deep breaths, gathered up whatever courage she could, and tip-toed into his room. His back was to her, and the steady rise and fall of his chest told her he was sleeping. She snuck closer to the side table. She was almost there—_

 

_“You know,” a voice growled from the bed, “most people know better than to sneak into a military officers room!”_

 

_He jerked upright, throwing aside his covers and glaring at her. She scrambled away from him._

_"I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I didn’t—” her heel caught on something, and she fell backwards landing hard on her ass, sending her books flying in all directions._

 

_The man started forward, and then swore and glared at his legs._

 

_“Fucking hell, these fucking. . . I can’t even help a pretty girl when she falls . . . fucking useless . . .”_

 

_S_ _heska blinked, going red in the face. “I-It’s okay,” she said, clambering to her feet. “I’ve had a lot worse, really. Once I was buried under a pile of books, and I thought I was going to suffocate. So falling on my butt isn’t such a big deal.”_

_Oh, she sounded like such a_ moron _. She felt herself going redder. She backed away from him._

 

_“I’m just going to go.”_

 

_“Wait! I’m sorry, it’s just . . .” he glanced at his legs. “Why are you here anyway?”_

 

_“Well, you seemed upset. And . . . well, whenever I’m upset, I read. So I brought you some books.”_

 

_His eyebrows rose. “Just some? I think you brought me a whole library.”_

 

_She flushed. She wasn’t sure what genre he’d like, so she’d brought him a variety. Murder mystery, historical, comedy, fiction, fantasy. She quickly gathered up the novels and placed them on the side table._

 

_“I’ll leave you alone now.”_

 

_She turned towards the door._

 

_“Wait,” he said, and she froze. “I’m not much of a reader. You wanna stay and help me get started?”_

 

_“A-are you sure?”_

_"Of course. I could use the company.”_

She’d visited him every day after that, reading to him from all of her favourite novels, until the day he’d been discharged. She examined the box once again, before noticing a handwritten note on the floor. It must have come away when she’d pulled off the wrappings. She bent over and picked up the note.

 

 

_Hey Sheska_

_I thought I’d send  you these since no beautiful lady should be without a gift on Valentine’s Day._

_Hope to hear from you soon._

_Jean Havoc._

 

Sheska read the note three times to make sure she understood correctly. He wanted to hear from her? He thought she was _beautiful_? _Her_? She blushed and her grip tightened on the note. She’d have to thank him for the gift . . . after she finished her chapter, of course.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even our bookworm, Sheska, got some love this Valentine's day. I love Sheska. :) I hope you like the surname I gave her!
> 
> Hope everyone has a fantastic Valentine's Day!

**Author's Note:**

> Not the most happy start to the fic, but things will get better, I promise!
> 
> As always, let me know what you think!


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